


Can you remember?

by joeyrz



Category: Xena: Warrior Princess
Genre: Amnesia, M/M, Work In Progress
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2005-01-18
Updated: 2005-01-18
Packaged: 2017-10-17 07:47:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,691
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/174539
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/joeyrz/pseuds/joeyrz
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Joxer is attacked and left without his memory.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Can you remember?

**Author's Note:**

> This is one of my WIP's, and, for the time being, has been abandoned.

Prologue

He was dying. He already knew it. He’d accepted the fact. He was no longer trying to find someone to heal him, but a town in which to die, where his body would be given a proper burial, not left at the mercy of scavengers and the elements.

He’d had worst wounds before, but thanks to Xena, they’d always been tended to promptly. But it had been two months since he last parted ways with the warrior princess and her sidekick, Gabrielle. The two women were on one of their long, out of the way trips, looking for some privacy and downtime.

He’d decided to do some sight-seeing of this own, and take a much needed vacation from the whole “hero” thing. He’d gone to Meg’s to leave his armor and sword in her care. He’d taken with him just a small dagger that Xena had salvaged, polished and given him some time back.

He’d planned for a care-free trip… no joining war parties, no taking on warlords, no trying to settle conflicts or disputes… just plain no fighting.

Only, he’d never figured he’d run into a couple of drunken thugs across a deserted stretch of road, in the middle of nowhere, who, as soon as they laid eyes on him, decided it would be tons of fun to rob him of his non-existent riches.

The only trouble was, that he wasn’t carrying money. Most the thugs found were three dinars and a lot of lint in his pockets. Enraged, they released their frustrations by beating him black and blue, first with fists, and when he fell face down on the road, with heavily booted feet. One of the men found his dagger, and took it with him as a consolation prize, but not before stabbing him brutally on the back with it. The thugs staggered off, leaving him bleeding and barely conscious on the dusty road.

He didn’t know how long he’d laid there, trying to muster enough strength to get up. He’d managed not to pass out when he sat up, the pain filling his body, every muscle and bone aching. He didn’t know how deep the dagger went in, but he’d at least managed to bind, albeit, poorly done, the wound on his back with scraps of fabric he tore off his shirt. His left arm clutched tightly to his body, to keep from jarring an obviously broken bone.

How he got to his feet, he didn’t know, but somehow he managed to, and then to force himself to walk. The pain muddled his mind, but if his attackers were drunk, they must have come from a tavern. And where a tavern was, a town was too. He’d lost track of time and direction, he couldn’t tell which way he was headed, the sun had set, and the moon wasn’t shining; he was moving blindly. He only knew that his feet were following a road, by the feel and sound of the gravel. He hadn’t walked that much, having to stop repeatedly to catch his breath, or to get up from where he collapsed.

The wound wasn’t bleeding anymore, but from the smell, he knew it was badly infected. Many times his body wanted to give up on him, but only the thought of his brothers and friends never knowing what happened to him kept him moving. It was getting harder and harder to think straight, a splitting headache tearing through his brain.

He stumbled and fell one last time, his limbs refusing to move anymore. He needed to go on. ‘Gods, please.’ He wanted, needed to go on. He needed… “Gods, help me.”

He needed…

~*~*~*~*~*~*~  
Chapter I

The sun was shining in his eyes, forcing him awake. His right arm felt like dead weight when he tried to raise it to cover his eyes. He blinked slowly, his lids heavy with too much sleep.

He wondered for a second where he was, until he shifted slightly. The pain that shot through his body drove all thoughts from his mind. He whimpered as he tried to regain the pain-free position he was in, but soon found it didn’t exist, that his body just hadn’t registered the pain before. Every movement came with some sort of pain, dull and throbbing or sharp and agonizing. He soon realized he shouldn’t move his left arm at all, and that his ribs protested if he breathed too deeply.

“Gods, kill me now,” he whimpered.

“If I had known you wanted to die, I’d have left you in that godsforasaken road.”

The voice coming from his left startled him, making him jump slightly, and he yelped in pain, as a sharp shot of agony raced through his arm.

“Easy… calm down and don’t move. I’m not much of a healer, and though I could stop the infection from that nasty wound, you’re still pretty much in the same condition I found you in.”

He stared as the leather clad man sat beside him in what he now realized was a very comfortable bed.

“Uh…”

“Don’t look so surprised. You asked the gods for help. I helped.”

“Uh…”

“And don’t act so surprised. I’ve always taken care of my followers. At least those who please or amuse me.”

“Uh…”

“I mean, it’s not like you’ve stayed alive all this time on your own. You’d be dead a hundred times over if I haven’t been looking out for you.”

“Uh…”

“Oh, for the love of Zeus! Would you stop ‘uh’ing’ and say what you want to say already!”

“Where am I? Who are you?” he asked a bit hesitantly.

“What do you mean, ‘who am I?” I’m Ares, as you very well know.”

“Oh. Are you my friend? I mean, do you know me? Can I ask you something?”

“What’s one more question?”

He didn’t really know if that was a ‘yes’, but he hoped it was. He really wanted to know the answer to his question. He looked up at Ares, what the man had called himself, took a deep breath, and asked,

“What’s my name?”

~*~*~*~*~*~*~  
Chapter II

Ares paced the hallway that lead to what was currently Joxer’s room. He looked up as his nephew cleared his throat, announcing his return from examining the young mortal.

“So what’s the diagnostic, Ace?”

The older looking god sighed, stroking his long beard slightly. “Well, it’s pretty apparent that during his attack he suffered several blows to the head. Not hard enough to fracture his skull, but enough to cause swelling in his brain. That’s what’s most probably causing the memory loss. And that can be both good news and bad news.”

Ares scrubbed his face with both hands, his frustration clearly noticeable. “How is that good news, Asclepius?” he gritted from behind tightly clenched teeth.

“Because it’s *just* swelling. He could have very easily had have bleeding in the brain. It’s like a bruise: bad, but not permanent or extremely dangerous. As soon as it goes down-”

“He’ll regain his memory?” The war god interrupted, hopeful.

“-we’ll know more,” Asclepius finished. “I’m sorry, Uncle Ares, I wish I could reassure you, but memory is a fickle thing, and the mortal brain is fragile. He could start to remember things as the swelling goes down, or his memory could come to him all at once. But it’s possible that it may never come back completely or at all. In most cases like these, few as they are, the mortals recovered almost all, if not all, of their memories…”

“But?” Ares prompted, when his nephew fell silent, while obviously wanting to say more.

“But,” Asclepius sighed, “in two cases I tended to, the mortals never got it back.”

Ares pinched the bridge of his nose, frustrated. He wanted to blow something up, slice a few heads off or maybe annoy his little brother, Hercules, into a nice, long, energy releasing fight.

“How is he?”

“He’s as well as can be expected; he’s calm now. I managed to completely heal the wound in his back and the broken arm too. I hurried up the healing of all of the bruises too.”

“Why speed up? Why not heal him completely? You can do it, can’t you?”

“Well, I started to!” Asclepius took offense to Ares’ doubt in his abilities. He was always thorough when caring for his patients. He took a deep breath and tried to calm himself.

“I was going to heal everything, except, well… his brain needs to heal itself, at it’s own pace. But the boy was nervous, right from the start. As soon as you left the room he got quiet. I talked to him at first, tried to ascertain the extent of damage to his brain, to his memories. He figured that I was a healer, and answered my questions, but my attempts at engaging him in conversation failed. I think he’s leery of healers… Anyway, I kept on talking, trying to distract him, and before he even knew it, I had healed his back and arm. As I was getting around to deal with the bruises, he noticed what I had done and freaked! He fell of the bed, demanding to know how I had done that. When I explained who I was it got worse. He wanted to know what I wanted with him. That he had nothing to give in return, that he wouldn’t be indebted. When I said I didn’t want payment, that I only wanted to see him well, it got worse. He started saying that he wasn’t worthy of the attention of the gods, that he was nobody, nothing. He calmed down when I left.”

Ares was quiet during his nephew’s tirade, but as soon as Asclepius stopped, he couldn’t help but exclaim, “What the fuck?!”

The god of healing led Ares to another room, a den not far from Joxer’s room, so they could sit down and talk. He was tired and weary from his encounter with Joxer, and it left him feeling out of sorts… uneasy.

As soon as they were seated and comfortable, Asclepius spoke again.

“Uncle Ares… the lad’s response was that of a lesson so well ingrained, it’s not just a memory, but a part of him, of his personality and his psyche. He truly and completely believes that he’s not worthy of… well, of anything. He believes it so much, he is actually scared out of his wits by the thought that he might not be.”

Ares rested his head on his hands, his body leaning forward to support his elbows on his knees.

“His parents,” the war god murmured.

“Hum?” Asclepius inquired, not having heard what his uncle said.

“His parents,” Ares repeated, louder this time. “His dad was a worthless sack of shit, and a third class warlord. His mom was dumber than a post and cared more about her dogs than about her kids. That’s why she never intervened when Jenel beat the shit out of them, Joxer and his brothers. All three of them got the same physical abuse, but Joxer is the only one who was humiliated and demeaned.”

Asclepius was quiet. He knew Ares identified his own childhood with that of the young mortal’s. It wasn’t the first time Asclepius wished he could heal the mind as well as the body, in order to help his favorite uncle erase some of the demons in his past.

But even if Ares could identify himself, or rather, his childhood, with that of the mortal’s, it didn’t explain why he was so taken with the lad. He knew there was more here than met the eye, and while curiosity killed the cat, the darned thing had nine lives.

“Uncle Ares? Why are you so concerned about this boy? You don’t usually bother when misfortune befalls on a mortal, unless it directly affects one of your plans.”

Ares turned to look at his nephew, surprised. The younger god was never much for asking personal questions or for gossip. He was so surprised, he started to answer before he registered what he was doing.

“He makes me laugh.” Ares stopped to consider this, needing to answer this as clearly as possible. “Not laugh *at* him. Zeus knows his companions do enough of that already. He’s clumsy, you know? He falls down a lot and can’t fight worth shit. His so called friends laugh at him because of that.”

Asclepius nodded, understanding. He remembered being a young godling, being made fun off by the other kids, because he liked to read and take care of wounded animals more than he liked to participate in kid’s games. Only his Uncle Ares defended him, and always encouraged him, going as far as to give him a room in his temple to keep his animals.

Ares had always been good to all the young godlings. He’d expanded his temple several times in the course of two millennia, to make extra rooms for those who liked to stay over with him. He never minded having the kids over, never minded the messes they made or the very diverse activities they liked. In fact initiated most of the playing and learning.

“But if you could just hear him,” Ares continued, snapping Asclepius from his thoughts. “He’s so funny. He likes to keep a running commentary in his mind about what’s happening around him. Things like where they’re going, what warlord they’re trying to stop, what stunt they’re going to pull. And it’s always filled with funny, sarcastic and insightful side notes. No one really realizes how smart he is, how much he sees and knows. But I guess that why’s he’s always so clumsy. He’s so wrapped up and distracted with his thoughts and with what’s happening to others, that he doesn’t notice what’s happening to *him*.”

“You care about him.” It wasn’t a question.

“Yeah,” Ares admitted. “He’s a breath of fresh air, Ace. And I wish I could have him, but he’s been poisoned against me. He may have been dedicated to me and followed me during his childhood, but he’s loyal to Xena. He won’t be with me, because he knows Xena wouldn’t approve.”

Asclepius sighed and got up. He didn’t believe in meddling in other’s god’s lives and giving un-asked for advice, but this needed to be said.

“That may be true, Uncle… but he doesn’t remember who Xena is, now does he?”

He stayed just long enough to watch Ares’ head shoot up, before he disappeared in a shower of blue and green sparks.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~  
Chapter III

Several minutes later, Ares was still considering the importance of his nephew’s last words, when a soft knock at the door pulled him from his thoughts. He smiled, knowing that it could only be Joxer behind the closed door. He called for him to enter and his smile faded when he saw the bruises that, even though faintly, still covered the young mortal’s face. Joxer crossed the room and sat at the edge of the seat of the chair across from where Ares sat.

“Are you feeling better?”

“Yeah, I’m fine,” Joxer said quickly then sighed. “Well… I’m sore all over and my arm’s a bit tender, but I’m hungry, so I guess that’s good, right?”

“That’s very good,” Ares agreed. “It means your body is healing well. And I’m *very* happy to hear that. So what would you like to eat?” Ares asked as he got up, motioning for him to do the same and follow. As they left the room, Joxer fell in step next to the war god.

“Whatever, really. Anything that’s prepared already would be fine. I don’t want you to go to any trouble for me. You’ve already done so much.”

“It’s no trouble at all,” Ares said, as they stopped in front of a closed door.

“Anything. I’m thinking I’d eat anything and everything I see, right now.”

“Everything, huh?” Ares smirked. “How about we test that?”

Ares opened the doors to reveal a magnificent dining room. The room was dominated by a large table, it’s dark color complimented by the black marble floors and blood red walls. Two crystal chandeliers illuminated the table with soft, white light. The table was full to bursting with plates filled with all types of great smelling, delicious looking food. But all of this faded into the background as Joxer took in the other things decorating the room.

All of the chairs at the table, while the same style, were of different colors and patterns. And while some went well with the dark colors of the room, others clashed horribly. Some of the chairs had crudely carved names in the back of the seat, while other had the names neatly burned in. The walls were covered, in some places almost entirely, with children’s artwork. There were a few clusters of drawn on papyrus pasted together in every which way, while others were perfectly lined, all of them spread across the wall from top to bottom. Everything was children’s drawings except one small face mask painted in red and black.

Joxer went over to the table, and started to read each name in the chairs, as he went round it. He didn’t say a word until he was standing back in front of Ares. He shook his head slightly, trying to sort his thoughts out.

“Strife, Cupid, Phobos, Deimos, Asclepius, Pan, Harmonia, Bia… all of those, and the others… they’re all the names of gods. And you really *do* know Asclepius. I don’t… I don’t understand. I… you’re… you’re…”

“Ares.”

“But not just *any* Ares. You’re *the* Ares?” Joxer half asked, half stated.

“If you mean, Ares, God of War, then yes. I am.”

“But… but, but… But why did you save me? What could I possibly offer you? I’m just a mortal. I’m nothing,” Joxer finished meekly.

Ares wanted more than nothing to be able to grad Joxer’s arms and shake some sense into him, but he resisted the urge. He didn’t want to risk hurting him or adding more bruises to his fair skin… or Olympus forbid, scare him.

“Don’t say that!” Ares said, laying a gentle hand on Joxer’s right shoulder. “You *are* somebody. You’re Joxer. You’re my follower, my warrior. Joxer, the Mighty.”

“Warrior? Mighty? I’m a warrior? I don’t think I’d be a very good one.”

Ares chuckled. “Well, you aren’t,” he admitted. “But that’s not the point. The point is that you’re a wonderful person, and you make me laugh. You always have. Since you were a kid.”

“A kid?” Joxer shook his head again, confused by all he was hearing. He decided to leave that for later. “Is that why you saved me? Because I make you laugh?”

“No!” Ares hastened to assure. “I saved you because I wasn’t ready for a world without you in it.” Ares didn’t want to think too much about why he had decided to reveal that fact.

After staring in shock at Ares for what seemed like an eternity, Joxer looked down at his feet, trying to muster the courage to ask his next question. When he felt strong enough, he took a deep breath and looked up into Ares’ eyes.

“Ares… do you *like* me?” he asked shyly, looking at the war god from behind lowered lashes.

“Yes! No! I…” Ares watched as hope, disappointment and confusion raced in rapid succession across Joxer’s face.

“For the longest time,” Ares said quickly, trying to wipe the kicked puppy look from Joxer’s face. “I’ve wanted to be with you. But, as always, there was never a good time… it was always something. First time I decided that I wanted you, you were too young. When you were finally old enough, you set out on your own. Strife convinced me to let you explore life, know what it had to offer. To let you really grow up. So I did. But during that time, Xena came into the picture.”

“Xena? That’s the one you were asking me about, to see if I remembered, right?”

“The one and only. You were so young when you met her. Full of ideas and ambition… still so naïve and so eager to please. You wanted sp much to find *your* place… you would have done anything to fit in. And you almost did something horrible, but she stopped you. After that, you became so loyal to her. You never wanted to do anything that would upset her, and never anything she wouldn’t approve of.”

Joxer’s head was spinning, trying so hard to process all of this information. “But what does that have to do with you and me?”

“Because Xena hates me. Everything I am, all that I stand for, and all that I do. I still watched over you, still listened to you, but I never tried to be with you after you started to travel with her, because I knew you wouldn’t go against Xena. Besides, you probably wouldn’t have wanted me anyway… not after they poisoned you against me.”

Joxer grimaced. All of this was too much. He didn’t feel like a warrior, just his short trip out of the room he’d been given to find Ares had proven he wasn’t strong or graceful or coordinated. And Ares *had* said he wasn’t good. So why did he follow this warrior woman around? What did he have to do with all of that? Did he follow her out of mutual friendship, or was he like a lovesick pup that she couldn’t bring herself to turn away? And why did she hate Ares, she was a warrior, wasn’t she? Isn’t he her god?

“Look, Joxer,” Ares said as he saw the man lose himself in his thoughts. “I just want you to know that I don’t want to take advantage of you. Not while you can’t remember and could possibly make a decision you wouldn’t otherwise.”

“I…”

“Don’t, Joxer. If you decide you want me after you start remembering, I’ll be waiting. I’d wait for you forever if need be,” Ares smiled at him, as Joxer stared with wide eyes. “Now. Let’s eat, shall we?”

~*~*~*~*~*~*~

tbc


End file.
